


take a load off

by Kinkformer (Jara257)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, Masturbation, OC doesn't play a major role they're mostly here to further enable the exhibitionism aspect, may or may not be slightly self-projecting, on sigma or the oc: you will never know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 15:33:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20028145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jara257/pseuds/Kinkformer
Summary: Tired and overworked, Siebran takes a load off.OR Dr. Siebren de Kuiper is a man who knows what he's about.





	take a load off

**Author's Note:**

> Fun behind the scenes tidbit: I started writing this while I was at church because no day is holy enough to stave off my thirst.
> 
> My friend gave me this [brain worm](https://twitter.com/kinkformer/status/1155855398043291650?s=20) that wouldn't vacate my brain so I just wrote like a man possessed in an overnight frenzy, enjoy

He was getting _ close _.

The ambient sounds of the lab’s equipment hummed beneath the excited scribbling of a pen on a smart board as Dr. Siebren de Kuiper continued to write out his equations—

_ Rewrite, I’ve already done it twice, _he corrected as he leaned back to observe his work. 

Correct again.

_ I’m so close, I can feel it... _

“Dr. de Kuiper, you still here?”

Immediately, he startled out of his reverie, turning to the familiar voice at the door. The tired figure of his research assistant stood in the doorway, an exasperated smile on their features. He offered a sheepish one in return. “Ah, Jansen, I didn’t hear you.”

They raised a brow, glancing over to the digital clock on one of the displays along the wall. Siebren followed their gaze. 11:23 PM.

Siebren let out a small cough. “Yes, I am... aware of the time.”

They only offered a small hum that said ‘sure, I believe you’ before continuing, “Look, I know the prospect of actually conducting your experiment on the ISS is exciting, but please remember that you have a life outside of this lab.”

“I’m not an excited _ child_, but I do appreciate the concern nonetheless, Coby,” Siebren replied, removing his gloves as he moved away from the board. “I’ll check this set one last time and I’ll be off, promise.”

His assistant gave him a warning look before turning, “I’ll hold you to that, otherwise you’re buying lunch next time. See you Monday.”

“Good night, Jansen.”

A wave and the lab doors slid shut.

Sighing, he moved towards his desk, picking up the last of his dinner he’d neglected to finish hours ago before tossing it into the waste disposal, glaring a little balefully at the package of mini stroopwafels sitting on the edge of his desk, setting his lack of appetite solely on the content’s sugary sweet shoulders. Rationally, he knew he truly had no one else but himself to blame, but his nerves were, frankly, fried and he needed_ something _to take the edge off.

As he took a seat behind his desk, he realized his wafer cravings wasn’t the only way his body was telling him to try and take a load off. In his slacks, he could feel a distinct _ pressure _ that hadn’t existed there before and it didn’t require much of his drained brain cells to piece together what _ that _ meant.

He let out a small scoff as he promptly ignored it in favour of arranging his equations in front of him on his smart desk display.

_ I'm hardly a virile 20 year old anymore _ , he huffed internally. This really shouldn't be a problem for someone his age. Of course these things just _ happened _ sometimes, just a normal part of human biology, but even still, he felt a modicum of embarrassment. 

Still, perhaps he should really consider the gravity of the situation.

Siebren was a man who very much prided himself on taking proper care of his well-being. While his research came first, always, he was well aware that he was nothing without his health. He had a regular exercise routine, maintained a diet appropriate for his lifestyle and genetic makeup, kept up with regular check-ups—

_ Well, _ he backpedalled, glancing over at the almost empty package of stroopwafels on the edge of his desk, _ save for as of late anyway _ . Admittedly, he’d _ maybe _ not been keeping up with his exercise due to long hours, and _ possibly _snacking far more than was probably recommended. He traced back the origin of his troubles and really, it seemed his lab assistant had been correct: it had more or less started after he’d gotten his first approval clearance for his experiment on the ISS four months ago.

It occurred to Siebren in this exact moment, his slacks straining against his half-hard flesh, that perhaps this… inconvenience had been caused by a combination of the change in his routine and the fact he hadn't taken care of this _ particular _ aspect of his own health for... 

Much, much longer than he'd like to admit.

Siebren was a man of science, but he was still a man.

_ Perhaps I am working too hard _, he mused, running a hand over his haggard features. He could recall a time, just barely, when he could hardly sleep without taking himself in hand (or when it fancied him, his hand into himself) before a restful sleep would take him. These days he found sleep claiming him before his head even hit the pillow, thoroughly drained by his long hours in the lab.

He considered his current situation once more with this revelation. Obviously, the most reasonable course of action was simply ignoring it—it was hardly like it would absolutely inhibit his ability to go over his equations for a fourth and final time. 

He could ignore it.

He spared a small glance toward the surveillance camera affixed to the ceiling, where he knew it would capture every movement he made. The camera itself was more for dissuading anyone from stealing any lab equipment than ensuring no one was doing any _ other _ illicit activities in his lab, so it was simply recording, no one on the other side of the feed to even see him now. Even still, it would be ludicrous to even consider the notion of… _ taking care _ of his situation now. _ Anyone could be watching, anyone could _ see _ him _.

That argument alone should have shut down any other option immediately and yet.

And yet.

_ Anyone _ _ could be _ watching _ him… _

He felt his cock twitch slightly in his slacks at the thought.

_ Oh, what the hell... _

"I cannot believe I'm doing this," he muttered underneath his breath as he put one leg over the other, bringing up his data screens as though arranging them to check over his equations one last time. Along with his equations, he also brought up another file browser, which he apparently hadn't opened in over... five years? 

_ I really have been negligent _, he groused as he looked over the files in the folder.

Siebren at least liked to imagine he had _ some _ class. Besides the fact that a more visual stimulus— _ just call it what it is, it's _smut—would be far more obvious and risky, he'd always liked to leave some things to the imagination with some evocative words to guide it along. It was still smut, but he could pretend this was a little more dignified.

_ There is absolutely nothing dignified about this, _ a more rational part of his brain deadpanned before he suppressed it in favour of sliding a hand to rest in his lap. Carefully, he positioned it just over his crotch, thumbing open his slacks before pulling down the zipper slowly, subtly enough— _ he hoped _—that the movement wouldn't be caught by the camera.

He felt a small relief at some of the pressure being released and he breathed out through his nose. _ Patience… _

With one hand, he opened up one of the text documents in his private folder while he pressed his other hand over his mouth, leaning his elbow against his chair’s armrest as though he were simply leaning his weight on his elbow out of fatigue. Beneath his hand, however, he began slowly laving at the inside of his palm, slicking the surface as much as possible. Using saliva was obviously less than ideal but this was the most subtle liquid he could use by far.

After a moment, he changed his position, putting weight onto his other arm as he rested his cheek on his fist and shifting his saliva-slicked hand into his lap once more, this time carefully shifting the elastic band of his underwear away to move his hand between his flesh and the fabric. He bit the inside of his cheek as his slick hand met his throbbing cock, suppressing a small noise. _ Keep it together. _

The text document—_ smut _—he pulled up was one of the tamer ones he had if memory served, but it was enough to evoke just the right kind of imagery he wanted right now; a rather clandestine meeting between two men sharing one last night together. Written from the perspective of a submissive receiver, he shivered slightly as he imagined deft fingers slowly undoing his clothing before dragging themselves across his chest, slowly trailing down further and further down to graze at his hardening member.

A man of Siebren's stature and body type, he hadn't actually found himself in many situations to actually bottom and play submissive, especially as he became more invested in his career. Not that he minded being dominant in the slightest, the satisfaction of giving someone else a fantastic time was more than enough incentive, but in terms of actual partners who had both topped and played the more dominant one, they were so few and far between, he found it invading his fantasies far more often.

Not that he needed to explain himself to anyone: he knew what he was about.

Moving his hand over his cock, thumbing the head to spread the precum beading at the tip, he breathed out harshly through his nose before flicking his eyes over to his actual work to maintain his careful facade. 

He did this a few times, trying to give the impression that he was really was comparing notes, but before long, he found himself focusing almost entirely on his literature—_ it’s smut _—as it continued to unfold, the image of warm, slick lips wrapping around his hardness firmly settling into his mind. His breath hitched in his throat as he gripped tighter at his length to mimic the feeling, biting down a moan as his face flushed with warmth.

If he were being honest with himself, this one definitely wasn't as good as he remembered, the writing style a bit too hammy and the dialogue just on the wrong side of awkward, but it did the trick anyway. As the scene progressed, he began to regret not simply waiting until he got home as an image flashed into his mind; warm, slicked fingers pushing themselves into him, fucking and stretching him open, teasing words whispered into his ear. He was unable to suppress a full-body shiver at that—and immediately felt his face flush even hotter at the prospect that the camera _ caught _ that.

_ There’s almost no chance anyone will be looking at this footage, or care enough to notice, _ he rationalized to himself, but even the _ possibility _ of it was enough to make his cock twitch in his palm. He shut his eyes briefly, breathing slowly to center himself before continuing on, not even bothering to flicker his eyes over to his work anymore, concentrating solely on his smut, his member giving another hard twitch as it went on to describe the pleasure-burn sensation of being speared open by a thick cock. 

His breathing came to him short and stilted as he could almost feel the deep pleasure of being fucked hard and fast and he swallowed heavily as the characters rapidly approached their end, the image of flesh sliding against flesh penetrating his mind.

He let out a low groan—_ far, far too loud _—as he too felt himself peaking, jolting with an exhilarating bolt of fear before quickly masking it with a cough, moving the hand that supported his head against the armrest to cover his mouth. He kept his fingers pressed there to suppress any other noises that might decide to leap out from his throat as he felt both his orgasm impending, his hand moving over his length faster and faster, and the searing heat of the camera’s dull gaze on him. As his toes curled in his shoes and his crossed legs strained, pressing against one another even further, he was certain that there was almost no chance that anyone who saw this wouldn’t be able to tell what he was doing.

_ Dirty old man. _

_ Fuck _ , he thought eloquently, before he crested, the hand pressed to his face gripping into the flesh tightly as his orgasm washed over him, splattering warm, transluscent fluid into his fist and dark slacks. He shook in his seat as he came down, shuddering, ragged breaths escaping his chest. Slowly opening his eyes— _ when had he closed them? _—he noted passively that his mind felt absent of… clutter. Yes, clutter was probably the closest word.

He glanced down at his hand. Though that said nothing about the more physical mess he’d somehow forgotten to account for when he'd started this.

Sighing, he resigned himself to the fact that he wouldn’t _ actually _ be checking his equations again tonight as he stood, his lab coat falling over to cover the worst of it on his slacks while he kept his hand from the camera's line of sight with his body, before making his way out of the lab to wash up. Really, he should have felt more disappointed that he’d wasted his time with this brief... _ thrill _ over checking his work again.

Except he really did feel more relaxed than he had in probably months.

_ So perhaps _ , he mused as he packed up his things for the day, _ it wasn’t a complete waste. _

He found himself leaving the building before the hour even rolled into the next day with a bone-deep satisfaction.

* * *

Monday morning found Coby Jansen stepping into the lab, calling out for their employer. Looking around the lab quickly and upon receiving no answer, they shrugged. _ Probably making his way back from the gym or something. _

They moved to their work terminal, pulling up their work from last week, set to get started —they didn’t have much time before Dr. de Kuiper would be sent into orbit—before pausing. They glanced over to Siebren’s desk, remembering their own words from last week:

_ I’ll hold you to that, otherwise you’re buying lunch next time. _

They glanced up at the security camera affixed to the ceiling. And smiled wickedly.

Maybe they could snag a free lunch from their favourite astrophysicist.

Pulling up the facility’s security feed, they selected the camera for Dr. de Kuiper’s lab before going back in the time log for last Friday night.

_ Or maybe I should just go to early Saturday morning _ , they joked to themself before noting that he didn’t appear to be _ in _ Saturday’s feed at all. Disappointed at their lost prize, they were about to close the window before something… odd caught their eye. Looking closer at Friday’s footage, they could see the distinct shape of Dr. de Kuiper sitting at his desk, looking over the data with his head resting on a fist as he looked over his work. That wasn’t the odd part though, the odd part seemed to be… his entire demeanour. Specifically his face.

Coby had been working with the good doctor for long enough to notice the different _ looks _ he had as he did his work, between trying to find the right equation, to making a breakthrough, to just checking over his math again. This didn’t look like _ anything _ they’d ever seen before.

He was just. Looking. Passive, schooled features, the usual excited energy behind his eyes absent in place of a far more docile, almost calm look in his pale eyes. It was… unnerving to see him like this.

_ Maybe I’ve just never seen him so burned out before, _ they speculated. The past few weeks especially had been rough and were probably just catching up with him—

Then a deep groan, though a little tinny coming through the camera’s feed, pierced their ears, the sound rich and passionate enough to send a chill down their spine. Coby felt their stomach and jaw drop. _ What the fuck… _

They tried to pry their eyes away from the screen, move to close the window, _ anything _ , but they continued watching their boss as he pressed his hand over his mouth to cover up a possibly fake cough. They took in his flushed features, his face redder than they’d ever seen, practically a bright stoplight demanding Coby to _ stop watching _.

They kept watching. Their eyes darted lower, finding Dr. de Kuiper’s lower half mostly obscured by his desk, only catching the slightest hint of his dark slacks as his hand appeared to be… _ shifting _ in his lap. _ There's no way… _

They felt nothing but pure shock as they watched his body _ shudder _, the lower half of his face covered with a white-knuckled grip as though smothering noises that desperately wanted to spill from his mouth as the rest of his reddened face just barely twisted in suppressed ecstasy, brows furrowed, mouth pressed into a thin line, eyes shut firmly—

“You’re in early.”

Coby shut the window immediately, guilt rushing through them as they looked over to the doorway just as it slid shut behind the imposing figure of Siebren de Kuiper. As the doctor moved to take a seat at his desk—_ that desk, THE desk _—settling in and starting it up, they faintly realized they hadn’t responded.

“Yeah, decided to try and get a head start,” they croaked weakly, hand twitching as it rested on their lap.

He raised one strong brow, looking over at their display. “Doesn’t seem like it helped much. I thought you’d already completed that set.”

“J-just uh. Checking it over. Again,” they coughed, turning away to pretend to busy themself with checking their work “again”.

They could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke, “Good, you’re finally catching on, Coby.”

“‘Course, doc,” they muttered.

A potential free lunch, they decided with the distinct image of their boss jerking it at his desk seared into their brain, was not worth shifting awkwardly in their seat for the rest of the day.

**Author's Note:**

> I also have a [normal art acct](https://twitter.com/jaradraws) where you'll probably find more Decent sketches of mister doctor so if you wanna yell abt this man hmu and i will respond in kind bc in this house we love old men


End file.
